


i do

by nascence (noktah)



Series: hearts, captured [2]
Category: VICTON (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Photographer, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26043661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noktah/pseuds/nascence
Summary: He ponders sometimes if Seungsik ever felt pressured like this during their nightly affairs—so afraid of love crumbling down before even building them up.Sejun likes to steal Seungsik's phone. Somehow, that habit leads him into questioning the status of their relationship.
Relationships: Im Sejun/Kang Seungsik
Series: hearts, captured [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1890535
Comments: 7
Kudos: 47





	i do

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if this feels so messy and rushed. just wanted to sort this out of my brain.  
> title's taken from onf's [i do](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RHU4mPIHKJ4). please note that the model and photographer thing is only used loosely. also please read the first part of the series. thank you!

Seungsik’s phone password is terribly easy.

Four-digit. All numbers. His own birthday minus the year. April 16. 0416.

Sejun navigates around Seungsik's phone to order some fried chicken because he feels sore and tired after walking around overgrown bushes and swatting away mosquitoes during his photoshoot and his stomach growls too loud. Seungsik, who is still snoring his dream away on his messy bed, must be hungry too, Sejun thinks. He cared for Sejun on the way home which was an uncomfortable ride. The minibus was overcrowded with staff and pieces of equipment, with tinges of cigarette and loud whispers of the latest rumors within the industry. Seungsik sat beside him, wordlessly lending him his shoulder as a pillow and Sejun happily took the rare opportunity to lean into him in public. When he closed his eyes though, numerous road bumps were interrupting his sleep. Seungsik nuzzled his nose into his hair, sensing Sejun's discomfort, and breathed out, "You know that my bed is yours, right?”

Sejun was grateful, really, how Seungsik allowed him to use his bed however he wanted even before they became an official couple. He was not even bothered when he accidentally spilled coffee on the duvet or left snot stains on his pillow covers because he was too engrossed crying over an old drama that he did not have the energy to reach out for a box of tissues. Seungsik just sighed when he saw the mess, kissed him on the temple briefly before he pulled out the rest of the bed cover and shoved it into a laundry bag. He told this to Byungchan two weeks ago, when Byungchan just got back from visiting his parents and listening to their nagging about marriage and grandchildren and forced Sejun to come with him to get in line for Gongcha’s taro milk tea. Byungchan, bless his soul, stared at him for a full minute before moving a step forward following the queue, and said, “You’re such a lucky bastard, do you know that?”

Yes. Yes, he is.

That’s why he skips back to Seungsik’s bedroom, sees Seungsik’s mouth hanging wide open, like that cute kaomoji you would see in variety shows’ caption, and takes a picture from the most obnoxious angle possible, simultaneously showing his nostrils and his front teeth and the rooftop of his mouth. Sejun, content and satisfied, immediately set it as both his homescreen and lockscreen, then waits for the delivery boy in the entrance with a goofy smile.

* * *

It becomes a habit, somehow.

Stealing Seungsik’s phone whenever he’s drained out on whatever surface he laid his body on or busy mulling over hundreds of photos in his camera roll, the cogs in his brain spinning and spinning as he judges which one is good for the next assessment and which one needs to be deleted immediately. If Seungsik saw him playing with his phone, he only told him to watch out the battery percentage and to notify him whenever Chan left a message.

By not changing his password, Seungsik gives Sejun too much autonomy over his phone, and Sejun slowly wonders if he deserves that kind of trust. Sure, Sejun only steals it so he can order food and drinks for two and clogs Seungsik’s gallery with his selfie and mundane little things like a fake ladybug on a fake green leaf or cat paws that belong to strangers on Instagram or screenshots of five-minutes easy recipes taken from Youtube. He never dared to venture around his messages or e-mails. Not because he is a goody-two-shoes terrified of breaching someone’s privacy, really—Byungchan can attest to that. He’s more worried about finding sweet saccharine words hidden between nosy newsletter and rigid business language, destroying pieces of home he constructed inside Seungsik’s heart. He ponders sometimes if Seungsik ever felt pressured like this during their nightly affairs—so afraid of love crumbling down before even building them up. He wonders if Seungsik still kept the message, the one he sent after he ran away, the time when he could discern the absolute exasperation in the countenance of that bubble text.

Sejun sighs against the phonescreen, trying to shake off poisonous thoughts before break time is over. Sitting on a sofa, wrinkling down this expensive autumn overcoat, while trying to keep his fingers away from his cheeks and ruining the flower painting blooming across his nose and cheek. He is in a good roll right now with his pictorials and runways. One of these days, maybe he’ll be allowed to audition for international fashion week. He can’t afford to ruin his good luck with worrisome assumptions. It’s all in his head, _it’s all in his head_.

“Hey,” Seungsik approaches, dallying his fingers on Sejun’s forehead. “You have a fever or something? You don’t seem energetic today.”

“I can be quiet sometimes,” Sejun retorts, eyes glancing up at Seungsik’s face.

“If you say so,” Seungsik replies disbelievingly as he fixes Sejun’s bangs. His touch is delicate and Sejun wishes they’re in Seungsik’s home right now, away from intrusive eyes so he could lean closer into the warmth of his palm and perhaps return the loving gesture with a kiss inside his wrist. “Are you confused about expressing the theme?”

_O_ _pposing seasons_ , he replays Chorong’s voice in his mind. His body would embody the muted colors of autumn and he could only think of trees sending the withering leaves to their funeral on the streets. His face conjures the brightness of spring—the hope that grows along with the florescence of cherry blossoms—but it’s difficult to display a radiant smile when the devil planted seeds of doubt inside his skull.

He notices pairs of eyes spark with curiosity and Sejun swats away Seungsik’s fingers before he lingers long enough for people to draw their own conclusions based on one gesture. Seungsik frowns, but he catches the signal and digs his hands into his pockets, and Sejun almost laughed at that. He was the reason Sejun acted like this, yet now he is the one succumbing to the force of the gravity, so drawn inexorably to him, defying his own proposal.

He remembers them—as easy as the password, as discreet as their moans under the blanket, as firm as the confession pressed on his temple. It was a simple morning with no jobs interrupting them for twenty-four hours straight. The dialogues from a drama rerun his mom liked to gush about served well as background music as Sejun nudged his toes against Seungsik, demanding attention from a man so fixated on his phone.

But then he said, “I think we should keep our relationship as a secret for now.”

Sejun stopped nudging, the image of his chat with Byungchan announcing his relationship with Seungsik stayed at the back of his mind. “I already told Byungchan about you.”

“Oh.” Seungsik bit his lower lip. “He could keep a secret, right?”

“He likes to run his mouth, but, yeah, he could if I asked him to.” Bile now slowly seeping into his stomach. Nervous. “Why do you want it to be a secret, anyway?”

Seungsik sighed, dropping his phone on his thigh and running fingers through his uncombed hair. Sejun squinted at the screen, recognizing the mobile version of his resume on his agency’s official site. “You’ve been with me for a lot of projects lately,” Seungsik muttered, “so I’m worried you’d be accused of favoritism or something like that if we reveal our relationship.”

“But I am your favorite,” Sejun pointed out, wanting the tone to be perky, but it sounded frail instead, “am I not?”

Seungsik seemed to notice that and moved closer to Sejun, pressing his forehead against him. “You are.” Sejun closed his eyes, feeling Seungsik’s the ghost of his words upon his lips. “You always are. I’m just worried since you’re still new in the industry, your seniors gonna harass you over us.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Even without you in the picture, some people just keep hating, you know?” Sejun gives him a small smile. “Also, you said that mostly because you don’t want other people to take photos of me, right?”

Seungsik sighed, gripping Sejun’s hand a little tighter. A sign of confirmation. “Maybe. But I _do_ worry about you.”

“So possessive,” Sejun chuckled, rubbing his thumb on the back of Seungsik’s hand to ease the photographer’s heart, but the more times he did it, it felt like he tried to reassure himself. Sejun still did not like the idea, though. He was no longer a secret whispered after sunsets. He wanted to show to other people how much Seungsik loves him and vice versa. He already had an idea how to fill his feed with Seungsik’s quiddities—the triptych of his arms when he set his camera in front of his calculative eyes and the tenets he spouted whenever alcohol sinks in his stomach, sometimes slipping out oaths of devotion towards him that never failed to make Sejun’s nape feels prickly. But Seungsik kept nervously tapping his feet against the table and biting his lips, Sejun afraid he was going to draw blood. He didn’t listen to Seungsik’s heart back then, only seeking pleasure from his clever finger and clever mouth, so now he would try to do whatever Seungsik wanted. “If you thought this is for the best, then, okay. We’ll stay covert.”

Sejun presses his nails onto his palm, using a little bit of pain to wake himself up. Imaginary Chorong echoed again in his head: _Opposing seasons—make your body weary of time, weather-beaten, and it tries to relish in the nostalgia of spring expressed with your face, the flowering of a familiar warmth that you’d like to keep it to yourself forever._

“You trust me, right?” Sejun asks.

“Always,” Seungsik affirms in a heartbeat, not even blinking, and Sejun’s chest wells up ocean-wide.

“Then, let me bare myself in front of you,” he whispers, gazing upon Seungsik’s lens.

He poses.

* * *

For once, Seungsik’s lips are dripping sugar.

“You’re so good,” he mutters, reverent, as he marks a purplish spot on Sejun’s collarbone. “So beautiful for me. You always are.” He trailed down his chest, his stomach as if he’s doing a pilgrimage to heaven. Sejun’s toes curl in embarrassment; Seungsik was never this vocal about his adoration when he’s this sober.

God, Sejun does not even remember how the photoshoot went by; what kind of body angles he carved; what kind of faces he painted. He only focused on showing the truth to the eyes behind the lens—all of Sejun are his and his alone; that despite everything, secrets or not, the one who matters right now in his heart is Seungsik. The next thing he remembered after he wiped the flowers off his face, Seungsik immediately brought him to the nearest hotel and drowns him with so many kisses Sejun’s mind blanked out.

“I cannot get enough of you,” he says, kissing Sejun’s inner thigh repeatedly, louder than the playlist he plays right now, faint lyrics of love and worship filling the tesseract they currently christened. “God, how the hell are you mine? I feel so lucky. I am the luckiest man. What the hell,” he blabbers on and sighs. Shivers running up and down Sejun’s spine, frantic and fevered. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Sejun breathes in a long, long breath before he allows himself to be caught in Seungsik’s undertow.

* * *

Before the sun rises, Sejun steals Seungsik’s phone again and finds his own face on the screen—eyes shut and bare shoulders, dim rays of the nightlamp adorning his skin and made him look a little bit ethereal. He ponders when Seungsik took this photo, but his train of thought gets sidetrack when he feels the weight beside him shifted, a chin rests upon his shoulder.

“I wanted to post that, but I gotta have your permission first,” Seungsik softly confesses, then an afterthought, “and your agency’s.”

“No longer being secretive, are we?”

“Yeah. It’s really obvious now that I really couldn’t gatekeep my desires. Plus I’m pretty sure a lot of people noticed there’s a _lot_ of tension between us yesterday.” Seungsik rubs his face in regret. “I really cannot keep it in my pants, huh?”

“I mean, I think it was pretty obvious you have the hots for me when you ran away after you saw me kissing with Byungchan.”

Seungsik groans, “Oh, don’t make me remember about that.”

Sejun finally turns so he can face Seungsik and pats his arm. “There, there. Remember if it wasn’t for your impromptu escape, I probably wouldn’t be able to stay here with you.”

“I know.” Seungsik then takes his hand and plants a kiss on his ring finger and Sejun couldn’t help but shiver at the significance of the kiss—the silent promise of forever. _Too soon_ , Sejun thinks briefly, but Seungsik kisses his ring finger again, slow and chaste. “Thank you for being here. Thank you for being mine.”

Breathless, Sejun also takes Seungsik’s hand, leaving a kiss on his ring finger, bold and rushed out of nervousness. He’s still afraid of the notion of eternity. Still, he needed to send a message to Seungsik that he’s willing to try to build that home together. Sejun repeats, his caged heartbeats ringing in his ears, “Thank you for being mine as well.”

Beyond the window, the sun rises.

* * *

A few days later, Seungsik shares the unused cuts of Sejun’s pictorial in his personal Instagram account.

The caption simply says: _love._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! kudos and comments are appreciated.  
> you can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/noktah_twt)! if you like this, please consider to help me out on [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/noktah) or [trakteer (for indonesians)](https://trakteer.id/noktah)!


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